Silver Lining
by Athena Sapphire
Summary: Still not exactly in the creative title mood... XP. But here's a post-5x13 Merlin inner monologue for you people! Kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing and my first Merlin fic so don't be too harsh :S


**A/N: Again, sorry. I got distracted by all these other fandoms! Here's the evidence of Merlin... the finale had me freaking out by the way... way to ruin a girl's Christmas :( **

**Anyway, I promise I'll get back to the Gods series soon, just... I might need a little encouragement :D Happy reading!**

"Immortality doesn't suit you, Merlin." He whips around as he hears that voice again, wishing, hoping that this time it's real. The dull gray of the water on a cloudy day is all that meets his gaze. No flash of golden hair, no shining blue eyes, no sparkle of armor waiting for its next battle.

"You'd think after a thousand years I'd learn," he mutters to himself, turning his back, shaking his head. But after a thousand years alone, all it's done is become worse. He thought that imagining Arthur everywhere he went was some sort of after-effect of his death, and that the hallucinations, the hopes and dreams, would fade with time. But time has had no healing effect on him. All it has done is trample the bits of his already shattered heart. As if losing his best friend wasn't bad enough, he has had to live for what seems like an eternity, waiting for some distant future that has begun to seem more and more like it will never take place.

As the memory of that day, still vivid in his thoughts, no less painful, flashes through his mind, he winces in emotional agony and sinks to his knees, his body (currently in the shape of an old man; it's much easier to pass off as a hermit that way) protesting all the way. More memories follow the first-watching his friends age before his eyes while his own body refuses to succumb to the power of time. Watching them die, one by one, powerless to stop it, destined to live on, cursed. Alone. Wishing, more than once, that he could die. The old days, when he used to make friends with the mortals, before he realized it was safest to isolate himself. Before he realized that with every new friend came new heartbreak. Sometimes it took longer than others-sometimes he'd get a full lifetime (artificially aging himself the whole way) but eventually they all died, and another piece of his heart vanished along with the light that faded from each pair of eyes.

His gaze stretches out over the Lake of Avalon, wishing desperately for a ripple, the tip of a sword, any sign that his king is returning. But the flat expanse of nothing stirs only for the stormy wind.

Seized by a sudden frustration, he grabs the nearest pebble and hurls it as far as he can-a few feet beyond the shore. Being an old man does have its limitations, after all. "Why?" he demands of the inanimate lake, the lake which holds so much memory for him, so much pain, so much loss, yet so much hope. The only thing that tethers him to this place is the promise of a future. A future in which he will no longer be alone. But that future has yet to come to pass-he has lived through wars, desolation, inhumanity, the rise and fall of empires, and still nothing has driven the Once and Future King to stir from the depths of his watery grave. "I'm beginning to doubt the 'future' bit," he grumbles to himself. He tries to make it sound angry, he tries to blame Arthur for not being there, but even thinking his name stirs a spring of emotion within his heart-a heart which, he is sure, should not even exist anymore, given all it's been through.

A ripple on the lake. Arthur? He waits, watching, breath held in anticipation, pulse quickening, for almost a full minute before the ripple subsides. Just another false alarm, one more tiny occurrence to add to the list of things that have broken his heart.

'Immortality doesn't suit you, Merlin.' Arthur's imaginary words echo in his mind. But what does that mean? Does it mean that over the years he's become so broken that he can no longer be recognized as a human being? Does it mean that his purpose is gone, it's starting to look like forever, and he has nothing left to live for? There is no weapon in the world that can kill him. Over a thousand years, he's had a lot of time to test that theory. It is not his destiny, apparently, to die until Arthur has returned. But even that is becoming nothing more than the shadow of a faint hope in his distant future. Another thousand years of suffering, maybe more, lie before him. The only thing that can help him... is the one thing that's tearing him apart.

That ripple again. "Musn't get your hopes up, Merlin," he scolds himself. Just a fish, probably. His eyes close in defeat, but there are no more tears. All his tears were shed a millennium ago. If he allowed himself to shed more... the flood would never stop. He would drown the world, and his magic would enable him to. Alone. Alone. Alone. The word is a constant in his mind, the one thing that stays with him, his constant companion which breaks his heart.

Why would anyone wish this upon themselves? he silently demands of the ground on which his eyes are fixed-he refuses to look back at that ripple. He will not allow himself to hope. Why do humans seek immortality? In the end, it only leads to agony and suffering and heartbreak. It might seem inviting-multiple lifetimes in which to accomplish things no one could accomplish in a single human lifespan-but once obtained, this future is a bleak one- full of empty promises. The only promise kept is the promise that the immortal will outlive everyone he has ever loved. The only certainty left is that he will end up alone.

Forever alone-the young people say it as a joke these days. They don't understand the meaning of the words. In fact, he doubts that anybody on this earth knows what it is like to be truly alone. Everyone has somebody. Everyone except him.

Figuring the ripple is probably gone by now, and any remnant of this bringer of false hope has been erased by the wind on the water, he returns his eyes to the lake-only to have them widen in shock and disbelief. Where before was a vague ripple, now there is a sword-a perfect, unmistakable hand-and-a-half sword, glimmering despite the nonexistent sunlight. The most beautiful object he has ever laid eyes on. Excalibur.

Even his mind is incoherent with shock, hope, and crushing fear. What if it isn't Excalibur? No, it definitely is. It couldn't be anything else. What if Arthur isn't actually returning? What if he's just reminding me he's there? I can't let myself believe that. Come on, Merlin, think. The hope and the fear clash in a devastating battle within his soul, and when the hope finally wins, he stands tall, waiting for his salvation-or his doom. Briefly taking his eyes off the sword, he glances around for witnesses-this event would not be so easily accepted in this day and age. Seeing no one, his eyes flash briefly gold until he returns to his usual self-young, eager, and above all, willing to serve. Because that is his purpose. Now, finally, as the sun breaks from behind the clouds and reflects dully off of armor that will probably need polishing, he can live again.


End file.
